


Look At Us Now

by viola1516



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Pre-Gravity Falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 14:38:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10220444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viola1516/pseuds/viola1516
Summary: One shot. Stan, in the midst of his grifter days, reflects on his life away from home while Ford does an on-air news interview.Feel free to comment!





	

Stan’s stomach rumbled, reminding him of the money he could’ve spent on food. 

Instead, he was holed up in this dingy old motel for the next two nights. While it wasn’t much, it was better than his car, especially in this weather. He’d figure something out for food. But at least for now he was warm. 

He was somewhere in Ohio, currently living under the alias Sammy Pineland, a simple man and seller of “gold plated” tobacco pipes. (The “gold” was cheap spray paint.) To keep the cops off his back, he’d stopped cutting his hair, letting it grow out. He’d even started wearing his glasses again, just for good measure. They were old ugly coke-bottle looking things (Stan didn’t even _know_ how they’d ended up in his gym bag), but he’d forgotten what it was like to be able to read billboards or make out the leaves on the trees. It was a nice change, even if he did look like a huge nerd. 

_Just like Ford._

Shaking his head, Stan stood began to inspect the room for bedbugs and other guests. Aside from some mothballs, the room seemed at least halfway decent. 

Settled in (he only had his briefcase) Stan decided to turn on the old TV, compliments of the innkeep. 

Quickly discovering that there were three channels, he left it on the nightly newscast, which was nearing the end. 

“The cold front should be out of the area by Thursday,” the weatherman was saying, gesturing wildly to the map behind him. “We’ll be seeing some more spring-like weather through the end of this week and next weekend. Back to you, Hannah.”

“Thanks, Jim,” the blonde anchor said, smile big and fake. 

_Imagine having a job like that,_ Stan thought to himself. _Just waving your hands around all day looking good and you’re set for life._

“Next up, we have a new segment I like to call _Innovators of Tomorrow,_ where we talk with up and coming members of the scientific community about their work.”

Stan rolled his eyes. _Never did like science much,_ he thought, and stood up to change the channel. 

But he stopped short as the camera panned to a hauntingly familiar face sitting next to the news anchor. 

“Here with us tonight is Dr. Stanford Pines, who works with naturally occurring anomalies.” She turned to face none other than Stan’s twin. “Thanks for being here with us, Stanford.”

“Please, call me Ford,” he replied, voice sending chills down Stan’s spine. 

“So, Ford,” the anchor began, “tell us a little bit about your work.”

“Well,” Ford began, “I’ve always been interested in things that were strange or odd.” He held up his six fingered hand, the one that Stan knew so well. “This might have had something to do with it,” he added, chuckling. 

Stan sat down heavily on the bed, staring, transfixed at the TV screen. He didn’t really hear the rest of the broadcast. 

He hadn’t see his brother in seven? Eight years? Stan had lost count. But Ford looked good. His suit was pressed and fancy-looking, his glasses were new and stylish, and his hair was neatly groomed. Aside from the wardrobe upgrade, Ford just looked different. It was in the way he held himself-- he looked confident and sure of himself, everything that the nervous, shy brainiac version of Ford that Stan had left back in Glass Shard Beach was not. 

Catching a glance of his own reflection in the dirty mirror on the wall, he let out a short, humorless laugh. _Mom and dad could never tell us apart as kids. Heh, look at us now,_ he thought ruefully. 

On the screen, the news broadcast had reached an end, and the anchor was thanking Ford for his time. As she signed off, Ford looked right into the camera. Stan couldn’t help but stare back; it felt like he was making eye contact with his brother for the first time since he’d been thrown out of the house almost ten years ago. 

His eye contact was broken as the image on the screen shifted to a used car sales commercial, but the image of his brother still lingered behind his eyes. 

_Oh Sixer,_ he thought to himself. _What happened to us?_

###### 

“Alright, Science Guy, you’re on next,” came the obnoxious voice of the newscast director, making Ford, who had been reading in a chair backstage, jump. 

Nervously fixing his glasses, he shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking. 

_Why did I think this was a good idea?_ He thought to himself, smoothing down his hair. Some professor he’d worked with in his doctorate program had recommended him for this segment, and Ford didn’t want to be rude. You could never know who would be a helpful resource later in your career. 

But now, here in the moment, Ford wished he’d just called it all off. While college had helped with his social anxiety, he still struggled to suppress the nervousness that threatened to claw its way up his throat every time he had to speak in class, let alone on a live news broadcast. 

_Just channel your inner Stanley,_ came a voice from the back of his mind. Ford had always admired his brother’s ability to talk his way out of any situation. But he hadn’t seen Stanley in years… 

“You’re on,” announced the director from right behind Ford, startling him once again. 

Ford nodded, took a deep breath, and sat down in the wheeled chair next to the blonde news anchor (Haley? Hazelle? No- it was Hannah.) where he sat just out of the view of the camera. 

_Okay, three minute segment before the end of the broadcast,_ Ford thought. _You can do this, Sixer. Smile._

“Thanks for being here with us, Stanford,” Hannah was saying, smile almost painfully big. 

“Please, call me Ford,” he replied, unable to help himself. 

The anchor nodded, name noted, and continued. “So, Ford, tell us a little bit about your work.”

Ford took a second to collect his thoughts before answering her question.

“Well,” he began, “I’ve always been interested in things that were strange or odd.” _Give them some background, good introduction._ He held up his six fingered hand, trying very hard to hide the tremors radiating up his arm. “This might have had something to do with it,” he added with a small laugh. 

When the anchor kept giving him that unsettling smile, Ford felt his heart rate increase. _Keep it moving Stanford._

“As you mentioned, I work with naturally occurring anomalies, such as my polydactyly, or extra digits, for those of you at home. I’ve worked with animals that have conditions such as mine: snakes with two heads, mice with several eyes, and the like. What I want to know is what causes these anomalies, and how they can be traced through genetics. Many of them are mutations, but I’ve found higher quantities of anomalies in different areas of the country, most abundant in the pacific northwest.”

The anchor’s eyes had appeared to have glazed over, and it took her a split second to realize that Ford was done speaking. _Am I that boring?_

“Well, that seems to be all the time we have for tonight,” Hannah said, effectively ending the conversation. Ford was relieved, even though he knew for a fact that he did not speak for three minutes. 

“Thanks so much for being here Ford.” She turned back to face the camera. “I’m Hannah Simmons, with CWF News in Springfield, signing off. Good night!”

Hannah sat still for a moment, smiling that weird smile, before the director stepped onto the stage. “And we’re clear.”

Ford turned to face Hannah, whose smile had almost immediately dropped from her face. “Thank God,” she intoned, pulling a pack of cigarettes out from the pocket of her blazer. 

“So, am I okay to leave?” Ford asked cautiously. 

“The hell if I care,” Hannah replied. “I’m done for the night, so I’d assume so. Go play with your snakes or whatever.” And with that, she got up and left the stage, muttering, “Jesus, I need a drink.”

Ford slowly stood up and made his way back to the dressing room, where he had left his coat and his book. He was stopped once again by the voice of the stage director. 

“Hey, buddy, we cut you short. You talk too much about stuff no one cares about.”

Ford was taken aback. “I-- excuse me?”

“Yeah,” the director replied. “People don’t care about your freaky shit. Tell us about how you’re saving the environment next time.”

And with that, he left Ford to collect his things. 

_Should’ve been more like Stan,_ came that voice again. 

And as Ford made his way out into the cold, he was left to wonder what had ever happened to his brother.  



End file.
